


A Second Truth

by tumbleweedfarm



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Parenthood, Single Dad Sakusa, Taking the annoyance out of annoyances to lovers, background matsukawa/hanamaki, disaster miya atsumu, everyone is a mess, im a mess, original child character - Freeform, screw it they’re in luv
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29465901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tumbleweedfarm/pseuds/tumbleweedfarm
Summary: Atsumu’s current reason to both love and hate calculus sits in the front of his class, second seat from the left. Atsumu doesn’t fault himself for his infatuation. How is anyone supposed to look at those deep black curls and steely eyes without falling for them? He’s smart, too. His projects are top tier, and his work is always immaculate. On top of all of that bullshit, he has a pretty name to go with his pretty face and pretty hair and pretty notes.Sakusa Kiyoomi is a menace, honestly.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 44
Kudos: 799





	A Second Truth

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! The plot of this fic was decided via Twitter polls as a thank you for 500 followers, and it consumed me. Thank you for your support, and I hope you enjoy!

Atsumu has a type, and it’s anyone he can’t have.

Well, it’s actually stoic bastards he can’t have, according to Hanamaki, but the point still stands. Atsumu really, really wishes he was wrong. He’s not.

How Hanamaki came to this conclusion, Atsumu can’t be too sure. He suspects the long nights spent on the couch, lamenting his love life could be the culprit.

The couch in Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s apartment has the most consistent schedule out of all of them. At least twice a week, the dents in the cushions are deepened by long, late-night discussions over why Atsumu is a mess. Atsumu should care more about his best friends seeing him like this, but they’re just too damn easy to talk to. 

What can he say, Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s apartment is comfortable as hell. It feels like a therapist’s office as soon as you walk in. This is hilarious, of course, because Hanamaki and Matsukawa are reasons two and three on Atsumu’s list of Reasons to Go to Therapy.

“Honestly, Atsumu,” Hanamaki sighs one Friday evening, basking in the pitiful rays of Atsumu’s attempts at dating. He leans back and drops his head onto Matsukawa’s thighs, propping his legs up on Atsumu’s lap. “At this point, I think you qualify as an emotional masochist.”

“Is that even a thing?” Atsumu asks, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Matsukawa pipes up. “This is just brutal.”

“And it’s been the same guy for two months,” Hanamaki groans. “You’re pining harder than that dining table.”

“Is it pine?” Matsukawa asks.

“Fuck if I know. It’s cheap. Pine is cheap, right, Atsumu?” 

“Oh my god,” Atsumu drops his head into his hands. “Please focus. I’m begging you. I’m having a crisis.”

“Right, fine,” Hanamaki waves a hand in the air. “So tell us about the dining hall incident. Actually, just start from the beginning. I zoned out around when you started describing his hair again.”

Atsumu’s current reason to both love and hate calculus sits in the front of his class, second seat from the left. Atsumu doesn’t fault himself for his infatuation. How is anyone supposed to look at those deep black curls and steely eyes without falling for them? He’s smart, too. His projects are top tier, and his work is always immaculate. On top of all of that bullshit, he has a pretty name to go with his pretty face and pretty hair and pretty notes.

Sakusa Kiyoomi is a menace, honestly.

Atsumu feels like a high schooler again, heart thumping whenever Sakusa looks his way, fumbling over his notebooks trying to look nonchalant. He’s a _mess_ , and it’s Sakusa Kiyoomi’s fault.

This, Hanamaki and Matsukawa have heard before. They’ve heard it from the first day of class, when Sakusa pulled out a fancy ass pen to take notes with. 

Today’s incident, however, demands attention from listening ears. Today was the first time Atsumu saw Sakusa’s entire face.

Sakusa wears a mask around campus and in classes. With only his eyes visible, Sakusa’s whole “touch me and you die” vibe practically radiates off him in waves. 

But you can’t wear a mask while you eat, and Atsumu hadn’t planned on running into Sakusa in the dining hall, of all places.

The only reason Atsumu recognized him was his hair. Well, that and his simple yet sleek wardrobe that makes him look like some sort of model in his eight am calc class. Once again, Sakusa Kiyoomi is a menace. 

Atsumu nearly drops his tray when he spots a pile of dark curls sitting alone at one of the tables. Without the mask, Sakusa looks…softer. He has cheeks that look kind of squish-able and a small mouth that turns down into a pout.

“Oh, god,” Matsukawa chokes. “Stop, I’m gonna puke, we get it, you’re in love.”

“Yeah, that was just disgusting.”

“Hey! Yer literally layin’ on top of each other! I don’t wanna hear it!”

Hanamaki laughs. “Okay, but we’re actually in a relationship. You saw a man’s face for the first time and nearly pissed your pants.” 

“I did not!”

“You did,” Matsukawa and Hanamaki point out in unison. Atsumu drops back hard into the cushions and groans.

“What am I supposed to do, then,” Atsumu gestures toward them. “Advise me, lovebirds.”

Hanamaki laughs. “You think he knows how he landed this fine piece of ass?”

“Makki, ya spilled your drink on him in a burger joint at three am and asked him on a date to make up for it.”

“Gonna have to agree with Atsumu, babe,” Matsukawa pats him on the shoulder. “But I wouldn’t change it.”

Hanamaki smiles up at him, gentle and kind. “So go spill a drink on him, Atsumu. It works.”

“Somehow, I don’t think it will this time,” Atsumu sits up with a grunt. “I’ve just gotta wait for the right opportunity.”

To Atsumu’s delight and dismay, the right opportunity comes that Monday morning.

Sakusa wasn’t in class. He’s absent more than a top student should be, now that Atsumu thinks about it. Normally, Atsumu isn’t quick enough to answer the text Sakusa sends out to the class group chat, asking for the notes. 

And then he is.

 **Sakusa:** Is anyone available to bring me the notes from class? Thank you.

It’s perfect. It’s simple, it gets Atsumu’s foot in the door. It’s the ideal circumstance.

He’s terrified.

With shaking fingers, he types out a quick confirmation that yes, he would be _happy_ to bring the notes at the earliest convenience. 

**Direct Message from: Sakusa**  
Thank you. I normally meet in the dining hall, but I am a bit held up tonight. Can you bring the notes by my apartment?

Atsumu’s heart stops. So does his brain, apparently, because he can’t seem to type out a “Sure, no problem!”

Atsumu closes out of the messenger app and slams his thumb down on Osamu’s contact.

He doesn’t wait for Osamu to say hello. “Samu, ya gotta help me!”

“What the hell,” Osamu groans. “What did ya do this time?”

“The guy! Sakusa! Calc class!” Atsumu breathes out in a rush of syllables.

“Tsumu,” Osamu whines. “I hope to every god out there that I’m not interpreting this right.”

Atsumu wheezes. “No, no! He needs the calc notes. And I said I’d bring them.”

“Okay…isn’t this exactly what ya wanted to happen?”

“ _Samu_ , he asked me to bring them to his _house_.”

“I’m havin’ a hard time seein’ the problem here, Tsumu.”

“I can’t just do that,” Atsumu sniffs. “Samu, I’ll die.”

Atsumu can feel his brother roll his eyes through the phone. “Jesus, Tsumu. You’re hopeless. What did ya say?”

“I said—,” Atsumu sighs. “Shit, I haven’t replied yet. What should I say?”

“Say _yes_ , you idiot. And don’t freak me out like that again.” The call ends with a click. Rude. Atsumu could really use some sympathy, here.

He reopens the app to find a question mark from Sakusa, sent two minutes ago. Atsumu can sense his time limit. If he doesn’t answer, Sakusa will find someone else to bring him the stupid notes, and Atsumu will have to wait until Sakusa isn’t in class again. God knows when that will be.

 **Atsumu:** Sounds good!

 **Sakusa:** Here’s the address. Does 6:30 work?

 **Atsumu:** Yep! See you then!

Thankfully, Mondays are Atsumu’s lightest class days, and he has several hours to go home and freak out. With a heart attack narrowly avoided, Atsumu races back to his apartment, chest full of bubbling hope and piercing fear. 

The fear takes over when Atsumu enters the apartment to the sounds of breakfast being cooked.

“Tsum-Tsum, you’re back!”

Atsumu loves Bokuto, really. He’s a great roommate, pays his rent on time, respects the house rules. Unfortunately, Atsumu couldn’t ban him from the kitchen when they signed their lease.

Bokuto is smart. He may not make fantastic grades or sound decisions, but he’s intuitive and kind. He’s a good shoulder to cry on. 

He’s a shit cook.

Fortunately, breakfast appears to be in its beginning stages, before the stove turns on and the pressure cooker makes an appearance. 

“I was just about to get the vegetables started,” Bokuto chirps. He bustles around for a moment before pausing in the middle of the tile floor, a plan lighting up in his eyes.

“Hey, Bokkun?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are ya unbuttoning your pants?”

Bokuto’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline. “Oh, the last time I cooked, it got really messy. I don’t wanna have to do laundry tonight.”

“Bokkun?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m cooking.”

Atsumu plucks a knife off the counter and gets to work. He’s a good cook, in his own right. Sometimes he wonders if Bokuto agreed to room with him for the dinners. Still, he’s a good listener, and won’t judge Atsumu for his panic. He’s heard more of Atsumu’s disastrous pining than Hanamaki, Matsukawa, and Osamu combined.

Today, though, Atsumu doesn’t want his unwavering support. He wants Hanamaki and Matsukawa to tell him he’s an idiot. That usually motivates him more than anything.

Maybe they were onto something with the emotional masochism thing.

_________

There are a few doors Atsumu had to have courage to open. The door to his college interview. The door to his dorm, his first home without Osamu. Now, it’s the door to Sakusa’s apartment.

Will he be wearing a mask? Atsumu hopes he won’t. But it may be better for Atsumu’s heart if he does. Will Sakusa kick Atsumu out as soon as he hands over the notes? While it would save a lot of potential embarrassment, Atsumu doesn’t know if he could handle it.

Win or lose, the only thing left to do is play the game. Atsumu shifts his notebooks into one arm, raises a hand, and knocks twice.

The door opens almost immediately, and Atsumu silently plans his funeral. It will be a quiet affair, with heartfelt speeches about Atsumu’s defining moments. The last of which will be laying eyes on Sakusa Kiyoomi, sans mask, in sweatpants.

“Miya,” Sakusa greets. Oh, god, there’s a dark spiral of hair falling in front of his eyes. Atsumu makes a mental note to add “curls” to the cause of death.

Sakusa is a vision, straight out of Atsumu’s dreams. The little Hanamaki on his shoulder laughs at him for having such mundane fantasies.

Atsumu doesn’t remember hearing a baby crying in his dreams.

“Shit,” Sakusa mumbles. He turns and darts back into the apartment with a wave, a silent invitation for Atsumu to enter.

Atsumu’s superior intuition never fails. On a colorful mat on the floor, writhing and wailing with an impressive set of lungs, is a tiny baby. 

Sakusa dips down and picks the baby up with surprising speed. “Shh, it’s alright. It’s okay. You’re fine.”

It seems so gentle, so _soft_ , that Atsumu immediately feels like he doesn’t belong. Sakusa’s hand smooths over the baby’s back, and the cries turn to whimpers before fizzling out. The silence that follows is fuller than the sobs, somehow.

“I apologize,” Sakusa turns to face Atsumu fully. This proves to be fatal, as Atsumu is now looking directly at Sakusa holding a baby. “Miya?”

“It’s fine,” Atsumu clears his throat. “Are ya babysitting?”

Sakusa shifts and chews his lip. Discomfort wraps around his shoulders. Before Atsumu can wonder if he hit a nerve somehow, Sakusa says, “She’s my daughter.”

Several things click into place.

The ease Sakusa has in holding her, the absences from class. And now, looking closer, the exhaustion that settles over Sakusa like a blanket, etching lines around his eyes.

The last thing Atsumu processes is a pot about to boil over on the stove.

Sakusa turns wide eyes to the kitchen, then down to his daughter. Oh, yeah. His daughter. Shit. 

Atsumu runs some quick calculations. If Sakusa puts the baby down, she cries. And, by the looks of it, if she starts crying, Sakusa will cry. So, with all the speed he can muster, Atsumu drops his notes on the floor, lunges for the kitchen and moves the pot from the flame.

Sure, the handle feels like the devil licked his palms, but Atsumu doesn’t regret it. In fact, the sudden heat reminds Atsumu that this is real, he’s in Sakusa’s apartment, and there’s a baby. Sakusa’s baby. Sakusa’s baby in Sakusa’s apartment that Atsumu has been staring at for a few seconds too long.

“Thank you,” Sakusa pulls his daughter up a little higher on his chest. It looks like a few threads have untangled in Sakusa’s shoulders. The residual burn on Atsumu’s hands is so, so worth it.

“Yeah, no problem,” Atsumu’s eyes lock back on the baby. She’s so tiny, her cheek resting on Sakusa’s chest, a little fist bunched up in the fabric of his shirt. Tufts of black hair scatter around her round face, pink from crying. “So, what’s her name?”

“Oh,” Sakusa smooths a few dark locks on her forehead. “Hayami.”

“She’s beautiful. Just like—“ Atsumu coughs. “Her name.” 

While Atsumu pats himself on the back for that save, a smile smooths over Sakusa’s face. The icy spikes hat seemed to surround Sakusa start melting away. Atsumu could melt with them.

Sakusa clears his throat. “Do you…want some dinner?”

“Yeah,” Atsumu fights the blush that threatens to burn in his cheeks. “I’d like that.”

Atsumu picks his notes up from the floor and sets them on the dining table. Now that the chaos of the last few minutes is gone, Atsumu can take in the apartment. It’s small, but neat and comfortable. The living room opens up to the bright kitchen. Two doors on the far wall remain closed, but Atsumu guesses they lead to the bedroom and bathroom.

Atsumu’s favorite detail is the framed picture of Hayami, even smaller than she is now, sleeping in Sakusa’s arms. 

“What did I miss?” Sakusa’s voice pulls Atsumu out of his observations and turns his attention back to the dining table. Atsumu is glad the previous five minutes were such a mess, because he’s sure the sight of Sakusa, sitting at the table with his daughter clinging to his shirt, would have killed him otherwise. 

“Nothing an expert can’t teach ya.”

“I’m doomed, then.” 

Atsumu barks out a laugh and moves to sit down. So Sakusa _does_ have a few tricks up his sleeve. The sleeve Hayami is currently trying to chew on.

Dinner consists of hastily-made noodles eaten as Atsumu recounts the events from last week’s class. He clocks Sakusa’s disgusted face when he speaks with his mouth full, and makes a mental note to keep that habit in check. 

Hayami wriggles and squirms on Sakusa’s lap, smearing her face on his sweatshirt. Even her little grunts of protest are sweet.

“Okay, okay,” Sakusa sighs. He turns Hayami around and lets her rest her back against his stomach. She looks even smaller like this. Her gaze floats around for a moment before locking on Atsumu.

“Hello, there,” Atsumu whispers, giving her a little wave and trying to ignore how her stare feels like a spotlight. He’s rewarded with a smile that turns the spotlight into the sun.

There’s something about this little family that turns Atsumu into a puddle.

As he flips through his notes and lets Sakusa copy them down, Atsumu gives himself some time to mull over that thought. Little as it may be, this is a family. Inseparable. Delicate. There are lines drawn by a surname, boundaries that can’t be crossed. 

Sakusa picks up the material quickly and without much instruction. Good thing, because Atsumu is still reeling from all the new information. That, and Sakusa’s adorable daughter keeps smiling his way. 

There are a million questions Atsumu wants to ask, the most glaring of which involves the second parent, unmentioned and without evidence to suggest their presence at all. No pictures, no ring, no second set of shoes by the door. Atsumu decides it a bit too early for an interrogation, so he starts small.

“How old is she?”

“Four months, as of last week,” Sakusa runs his thumb over Hayami’s tiny hand. She grabs for a few of his fingers and pulls them toward her mouth. 

Atsumu is floored. Hayami has been around for months, and no one in the class had known. Atsumu isn’t angry, of course not. He’s just…confused. All this time, and Sakusa has had no one to help him.

Well, he might have, at one point. Atsumu decides to save that question for later. 

Atsumu’s prickly image of Sakusa seems far away. In the comfort of his own home, daughter on his lap, Sakusa is gentle. He’s soft. This Sakusa doesn’t feel like the “real” one. It’s just a second truth, meant to exist beside the first. Atsumu likes them both. He wants to know what other truths there are to Sakusa Kiyoomi.

While they work, Hayami babbles and chews on whatever she can reach. It really is adorable. She entertains herself with the sleeve of Sakusa’s sweatshirt as he holds her to his stomach. She looks up when Sakusa drops a kiss onto her head. It’s an easy gesture, done by instinct instead of thought. Atsumu didn’t think he could melt further, but Sakusa tends to prove him wrong.

It only takes them half an hour to get through all the notes. Sakusa really is a fast learner. By the time they’re done, Hayami is dozing off, leaning on Sakusa’s arm.

“I’ll be right back,” Sakusa whispers. He adjusts his daughter so that she’s laying against his chest again. It’s careful, practiced. Sakusa traces a finger over her cheek and carries her to what Atsumu assumes is the bedroom.

In the solitude, Atsumu notices his back has been pulled tight the entire visit. He relaxes his muscles and takes a deep breath into his stomach. Okay. 

Sakusa returns with empty arms and new exhaustion. “Sorry about that.”

“Ya don’t have to apologize, Omi,” Atsumu mutters. He slides his papers back into his arms and heads back for the genkan. 

“Omi?”

Atsumu stops in his tracks. “Oh, uh…my bad. If ya aren’t comfortable with it, I don’t—“

“It’s fine,” Sakusa clears his throat. The light coming from the windows has dimmed, but Atsumu is sure he can make out just a little pink on Sakusa’s ears. Atsumu is going to blow a fuse.

“Okay,” Atsumu’s voice absolutely does _not_ crack. “Thanks for dinner, Omi.”

“Thank you for the notes,” Sakusa smiles. It’s just as gentle as he is with his daughter. Atsumu feels like he’s been handed a diamond, buffed and shined with care. He wants to care for it, too.

“Any time.”

Atsumu steps back out into the night, cooled by the setting sun. The fresh air pulls the weight from his lungs. 

The short walk back to his apartment is spent smiling, cheeks aching a little. He doesn’t know why. The new truths of Sakusa Kiyoomi tug at the corners of Atsumu’s mouth and warm his cheeks.

The smile wipes from his face when he enters his apartment and spots two very familiar pairs of shoes by the door.

“Hey, lover boy,” Matsukawa drawls from Atsumu’s couch. “You were over there for awhile, how did it go?”

“I don’t even have the brain cells to ask why yer on my couch right now,” Atsumu closes his eyes and wills his thoughts to sort themselves out. “Sakusa has a kid.”

“A WHAT?” Hanamaki’s eyes widen.

“A kid. A baby, actually. A small human child that relies on him for everything,” Atsumu plops down onto the couch, nearly crushing Matsukawa’s legs in the process.

“Sounds like a kid to me,” Matsukawa chuckles.

“Is it,” Atsumu pauses and wipes his hands down his face. “Is it bad if I still wanna date him?”

Hanamaki sits up and meets Matsukawa’s eyes. Atsumu hates when they do that. He’s used to being the one with the telepathy. He wishes someone could read his thoughts for him now.

“Maybe not,” Matsukawa shrugs. “But he’s not just a hot guy from your calc class now.”

Hanamaki puts a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Calling other guys hot, Issei? Is this what we’ve become?” 

“Dear god,” Atsumu sighs.

Hanamaki rolls his eyes and taps Matsukawa on the nose. “Whatever, he’s right.”

“Ya think I don’t know that?”

“I think you do,” Hanamaki says, steady and sincere. It’s kind of unnerving, honestly. 

“I just—“ Atsumu groans and melts down into the couch. “She’s four months old! She’s been here this whole time and I haven’t even known!”

“You barely knew Sakusa before today,” Matsukawa points out, totally unhelpfully. “You just now had a full conversation with him.”

“That’s not the point,” Atsumu defends. It is totally the point, but Atsumu isn’t worried about that right now. “I still…really like him.”

“Are you sure you’re not in shock?” Hanamaki asks.

“I’m sure. Probably. He was just so…soft. Gentle,” Atsumu smiles, leaning his chin on his hand.

“Ugh, I hate it when you’re genuine. Makes it so much harder to clown you.”

“Why don’t you try, I don’t know,” Matsukawa hums. “Just hanging out with him more? I’m not sure how this works with a baby.”

Hanamaki laughs. “What do you mean, Atsumu is right there.”

Atsumu huffs and swats him on the leg. “Remind me why you’re in my apartment again?”

“Because we love you, of course,” Hanamaki pats Atsumu on the knee. “Also, we’re nosy bastards.”

“I’m going to bed,” Atsumu sighs. The weight of the evening’s discoveries drops down and settles into his feet as he shuffles toward his room. “Don’t scare Bokkun when he gets back!”

“Absolutely no promises!”

Atsumu nudges his bedroom door open and flops face down onto the bed. It’s only eight, he shouldn’t be tired yet. Maybe some of Sakusa wore off on him.

Oh, god, Sakusa.

Atsumu can recognize the fact that he was not familiar with his classmate before today. He knows he doesn’t have the right to pry. But now that Sakusa isn’t in the room, and the adorable vessel for all of Atsumu’s questions isn’t there, Atsumu lets himself wonder.

Is Sakusa single? He didn’t mention a partner. Hayami is clearly his flesh and blood, if the uncanny ability to render Atsumu speechless has anything to say about it. And, now that Atsumu thinks about it, the little mole just under her left eye. 

It’s upsetting to think that Sakusa has been alone. No one to help with Hayami, no one to listen to his scathing remarks or witness just how soft he can be.

Maybe Atsumu is a little further gone than he thought.

That doesn’t matter. He wants to help, romantic pursuits notwithstanding. He just wants to see him smile again.

But first, Atsumu allows himself to freak out just a little. He unlocks his phone to find a text from his brother.

 **Samu:** How was your little study date?

 **Atsumu:** Sakusa has a daughter

Three little dots appear almost immediately, then disappear. Atsumu’s phone lights up with Osamu’s contact.

“He has a _what_ ,” Osamu wheezes before Atsumu gets the chance to say hello.

“A daughter! An adorable daughter, actually.”

“So he’s married, then? Or something?”

Atsumu rolls over onto his back. “I don’t think so. He didn’t mention anyone else.”

“Well…how old’s the kid?”

“Does it matter?”

“I’m just tryna get all the facts before I decide how stupid ya are.”

“Hey! I’m not stupid!”

“Tsumu,” Osamu snaps. “If he’s a single dad, he’s got a lot more to worry about than you and your pining.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s not just him. He’s got someone else to worry about besides you. He’s gotta think of two futures. Adding a third might be…too much.” Osamu’s voice spills over into an apologetic sigh.

Atsumu knows he’s right. Sakusa isn’t alone, and never will be again.

“Yeah,” Atsumu breathes. “But I wanna see him smile again.”

“That’s disgustin’,” Osamu gags. “Just be careful. Take it slow. Earn his trust. God knows he needs to trust ya.”

Earn his trust, huh? Atsumu can do that. Probably. Hopefully.

So, with all the courage and dining hall coffee he can stuff into his body, Atsumu makes his move.

“Mornin’, Omi,” Atsumu waltzes into their calculus class with a cocksure grin and a spring in his step.

Sakusa squints in his direction. His mask is back on, but Atsumu is sure he’s frowning. He hates the fact that he finds Sakusa’s imaginary frowns cute. “Miya.”

“Not a morning person?” Atsumu returns the probable frown with a smile and leans a hand on Sakusa’s desk. Sakusa eyes it for a moment before looking back up to Atsumu.

“Not in the slightest. I was up late going over your notes.”

“Well,” Atsumu crosses his arms and leans his weight into his hip. “If ya ever need a study partner, I’m your guy.”

Sakusa squints. Atsumu has, after exactly two days of consideration, decided this is not something to fear. It’s still terrifying.

“Okay.”

“What,” Atsumu balks.

“Okay. I’ll give you my number so we don’t have to keep using the class chat.” Sakusa shrugs, like it’s no big deal at all. Like Atsumu’s heart isn’t about to rocket out of his ribcage.

“Great. Good. Gotcha.”

Atsumu can sense Sakusa’s frown under the mask. “Are you feeling alright, Miya?”

“Mhmm,” Atsumu nearly trips over his own feet trying to get to his desk. “Yep. Gonna…gonna sit down now.”

The flat glare Sakusa gives him nearly sends Atsumu tumbling over his chair. 

By some miracle, when Atsumu checks the class messenger app later that afternoon, there’s a direct message from Sakusa with his number attached. Atsumu saves it as “Omi."

He patiently awaits for a text. Patiently being the operative word. His waiting comes to an end the next week. 

**Omi:** Hayami is having a rough night and I won’t be in class tomorrow. Could you bring over the notes?

 **Atsumu:** Of course, Omi ;)

 **Atsumu:** Fuck

 **Atsumu:** I meant :)

 **Omi:** I’ll see you tomorrow evening, Miya.

 **Omi:** Thank you.

 **Omi:** Also, you’re an idiot.

Atsumu has never taken better notes in his life. They’re neat, organized, underlined, bullet-pointed. They’re beautiful. His mother would hang them on the fridge. He deserves an A in the class just for taking these notes.

Sure, they’re for the sake of a romantic interest, but still. 

Atsumu heads for Sakusa’s apartment with a newfound confidence. He knows Hayami will be there, probably fussy. He knows Sakusa will be there, wearing comfortable clothes, no mask in sight. Atsumu is ready.

He’s not ready.

Sakusa opens the door, Hayami in his arms, in a white t-shirt. Damnit. Why does he have to have arms like _that_.

“Hey, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu grins. Any subsequent words are cut off by a truly impressive wail from a very tiny set of lungs. 

Sakusa groans and opens the door wider, allowing Atsumu inside. The apartment is just as neat as it was last week, but the atmosphere is charged with a note of frazzled panic, most of which is radiating off Sakusa.

“I feel like you only see me when I’m a mess,” Sakusa sighs. It’s said with a lilt of humor, but Atsumu senses the exhaustion creeping under Sakusa’s voice. 

“I’ve only seen ya twice off campus, Omi-kun,” Atsumu smiles, hoping even a bit of the frustration melts. “I think I need a few more tries before I pass any judgement.” 

Atsumu mentally high fives himself for the smooth delivery, and the little smile that steals over Sakusa’s face. Of course, this is when Hayami decides to scream.

“Hayami,” Sakusa coos. “I would appreciate it if you’d let me have a conversation.”

Despite the rising tension in Sakusa’s shoulders, he remains gentle and soothing in his words. He traces his thumb over Hayami’s back, rocks her gently. She wipes her little face on his shirt with another cry. 

“Don’t think she’s gonna let ya,” Atsumu laughs at the sneer Sakusa gives his now-snotty shirt. 

Humor aside, Atsumu is at a loss. He’s never had to deal with a fussy baby, much less his crush’s fussy baby. 

“I want to get to the notes,” Sakusa shushes Hayami again before continuing. “But I have a lot to do, and she’ll cry if she gets put down.

Atsumu sees his options. He’s never held Hayami before, and Sakusa is clearly protective over her well-being. But he’s also fraying at the seams, and Atsumu wants to help.

“I can take her, if ya want,” Atsumu offers. Sakusa meets his eyes with a bit of unease. “If not, tell me how I can help.”

Sakusa looks at Hayami, then back to Atsumu. His brows pull together, then flatten again. 

“Please,” Sakusa steps toward Atsumu and shifts a wriggling Hayami in his arms. “Please be careful.”

“Of course.”

Atsumu helps Sakusa adjust Hayami so that she’s resting her cheek on his chest. She feels so, so little in his arms, fragile and precious. Atsumu doesn’t notice Sakusa’s sudden absence until he’s left alone with an armful of squirming baby.

“Hey there,” Atsumu bounces her gently. She makes a little hiccuping sound that pierces straight through Atsumu’s heart. “Are ya gonna let your dad go over his notes?”

Hayami tilts her head up toward Atsumu’s voice. She stares for a moment, then drops her forehead onto his collarbone and starts chewing on his shirt.

“Maybe I could just tell you. But I don’t think you’d be into limits. Seems a bit borin’ for a baby.”

Atsumu heads for the couch, sitting as carefully as possible. Hayami’s arms push at Atsumu’s chest until he helps her sit up on his lap.

Atsumu likes kids. They’re fun to mess around with, and he loves making them laugh. His cousins have kids, and he’s fine with them. But Hayami’s stare is going to give Atsumu a coronary.

“You’re really somethin’ else, aren’t ya?”

Hayami doesn’t answer, because she’s a baby. She does make the decision to pull and chew on Atsumu’s sleeves, also because she’s a baby.

“Goin’ for the sleeve, I see. Nice call. I’m more of a collar guy myself.”

Hayami babbles into the mouthful of fabric.

“Wise words, madam.”

Atsumu doesn’t know how long he sits with her, answering her nonsense noises and letting her settle. He doesn’t mind it at all.

He especially doesn’t mind the calmer look on Sakusa’s face when he returns to the living room.

“Oh,” Sakusa breathes. He looks Atsumu up and down, pausing on his daughter, happily grabbing at Atsumu’s shirt. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem,” Atsumu says. “I mean it. Any time.”

A spark of pride bounces around Atsumu’s chest at the smile Sakusa gives him.

With Hayami calm and Sakusa’s business attended to, going over the day’s material goes off without a hitch. Atsumu decides to ignore the little bit of regret he feels when Sakusa takes Hayami back into his arms with a “Hello, darling.”

Atsumu also decides to ignore the regret when it’s time for him to leave.

It’s an odd limbo to be stuck in. As Atsumu lays in bed that night, he tries to sort through his thoughts. On the one hand, Atsumu likes kids. He really does. Hayami is adorable, and Atsumu likes spending time with her. And that’s on top of how much he likes Sakusa. That’s the one part of Atsumu’s mind he knows is set in stone.

But still, Atsumu is an outsider. He walks into Sakusa’s apartment with the knowledge that he’s intruding on something Sakusa has just barely built. He doesn’t want to knock it down.

So, Atsumu does what he always does when he needs a second opinion. He calls Osamu.

Osamu picks up after two rings. “This better be good.”

“Hey! Have ya ever considered a ‘Hey, Tsumu, good to hear from ya’?”

“Absolutely not. What do ya want?”

Atsumu huffs. What _does_ he want? “I wanna date Sakusa.”

Osamu stays silent for a moment. “Even with the kid?”

“It’s not like it’s the fifties, Samu. Single parents can date, too.”

“I’m not worried about Sakusa, ya scrub,” Osamu sighs. “I’m worried about _you_. You’re an engineering student who’s only ever held our cousin’s kids. And you’re gonna be a family man, out of nowhere? For one guy?”

“Maybe I will!”

He says it on defiant instinct, but he means it. 

“It’s a big change, Tsumu,” Osamu warns. “Are ya sure about this?”

“Yeah,” Atsumu breathes. “Yeah, I am.”

“Just be careful, okay?”

“Jesus, Samu, it’s not like you know anything about bein’ a dad, either!”

“Oh, fuck off,” Osamu laughs. “So, what’s your plan?”

“My what?”

“Your plan. To…ya know…”

Atsumu holds back a wheeze. “Go on.”

“If ya make me say ‘woo him’ I’m blockin’ your number.”

“Too late,” Atsumu teases. “But I don’t really…have one?”

“You really are hopeless. Calc notes ain’t gonna cut it forever.”

Atsumu knows. But what is he supposed to do? He can’t exactly show up to Sakusa’s apartment with an arsenal of cleaning supplies or baby gear. The best he can do is make some dinner, or maybe…

“Samu, you’re gonna hate me for this.”

The next afternoon, Atsumu stops by Onigiri Miya to pick up enough food for two, lovingly prepared by a grumbling Osamu.

“This better be the cutest goddamn baby on the planet, Tsumu.”

Well, no question about that.

Atsumu whips out his phone and sends a quick text to Sakusa.

 **Atsumu:** Just grabbed some onigiri for lunch, want me to bring some by?

There. That seems simple enough. An easy conversation. Atsumu absolutely does not choke on air when Sakusa texts back

 **Omi:** Sure, if you wouldn’t mind.

Atsumu certainly doesn’t.

He especially doesn’t mind when Sakusa’s eyes light up at the sight of the food.

Hayami is much calmer today, able to sit and entertain herself while Sakusa eats. Atsumu takes full advantage of it.

“So, Omi,” He begins, dishing up two plates of onigiri. “Not to sound like a boring college student, but what’s your major?”

“I think ‘boring college student’ is kind of refreshing sometimes, Miya,” Sakusa takes the plate from him. “I’m a sports science major, with a minor in anthropology.”

“Seems like a lot.”

Sakusa huffs a laugh. “It’s interesting, at least. I want to coach youth volleyball.”

“Coaching, huh? Did ya play?” Atsumu slides into one of the dining room chairs. He gives a little wave to Hayami.

“I did, for awhile. I played on the team here, as well, until Hayami was born.”

Well. That explains a lot about Sakusa’s figure. Atsumu wants to ask more questions, but they’re extinguished when Sakusa frowns at his first bite of onigiri.

“Umeboshi?”

“Yeah, do ya not like it?” Atsumu worries the hem of his shirt.

“It’s my favorite, actually,” Sakusa’s frown deepens. “Thank you, Miya.”

“Atsumu.”

“Hm?”

“You can call me Atsumu.”

The permission charges the room with something new, unexplored and fragile. It’s just a name. But is it?

“Thank you…Atsumu.”

It isn’t.

“Yeah…yeah, of course.”

Sakusa searches Atsumu’s face. He’s relentless in his digging, stripping Atsumu of every defense he has. “I have some vegetables we could fry up. To go with the onigiri.”

“Oh,” Atsumu sits up from the table and steps into the kitchen, grateful to be out of that arresting stare. “Let me.”

Sakusa follows and pulls some carrots, snow peas, and broccoli out of the fridge, along with some condiments. Atsumu gathers everything up and gets to work, grabbing a knife and cutting up the vegetables. 

Cooking should be a hazard-free activity. One must be careful with fire, sharp objects, sanitation, and distractions.

Sakusa Kiyoomi is a distraction.

Atsumu doesn’t notice he’s staring at Sakusa, dark curls falling over his ears, until sharp pain wraps around his finger.

“Shit,” Atsumu hisses, pulling his hand close to his chest. 

Sakusa clicks his tongue and reaches out, grabbing Atsumu by the wrist. The point of contact burns more than any cut. “Pay attention, idiot.”

“Rude,” Atsumu scoffs. “Adding insult to injury, here, aren’t we?”

Sakusa drops his hand and opens a cabinet. He pulls out a small first aid kit. “Run it under some water.”

Atsumu does as he’s told, watching Sakusa pull out an alcohol wipe and some bandages. Damn, he really is prepared for everything. Atsumu is pretty sure his own first aid kit is just a box of band-aids in a bathroom drawer. 

“Give me your hand.”

Atsumu lets Sakusa wrap firm fingers around his hand and swipe over it with the wipe. It stings, but Atsumu is too caught up in the way Sakusa’s nose scrunches as he works. 

“Thanks, Omi.”

“I can’t have you bleeding on the carrots, Atsumu,” Sakusa’s mouth tilts into a little smirk.

Atsumu chuckles. “Priorities.”

The distance between them was already small, but it shrinks even more when Sakusa looks up to meet Atsumu’s eyes. They’re so close. If they just lean in a little closer, push past that barrier, they could—

Sakusa clears his throat and steps back. “Anyway, be careful.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

Atsumu feels like he’s missing something, but he can’t place what. It’s hard to read Sakusa. The few pages that he’s been able to decipher are messy and full of contradictions. But he wants to learn it all. He wants Sakusa to open those doors.

Throughout the week, Atsumu sends Sakusa quick texts, small checkins, open invitations for conversation. Usually, Sakusa will entertain it for short periods of time. He’s not the best texter. Atsumu wonders if he’s ever had someone outside of his family to talk to on a regular basis.

Atsumu’s checkins usually result in a “Fine.” or “Alright,” even when Atsumu is sure it’s not true. That’s why alarm bells ring in his head when Sakusa says otherwise.

 **Atsumu:** How is everything?

 **Omi:** Not great. Hayami won’t stop crying and I can’t put her down.

 **Atsumu:** I can bring dinner, if you need it.

 **Omi:** I can’t ask that of you.

 **Atsumu:** I’m offering. I’ll be there in 10.

Atsumu doesn’t wait for a response. He throws some leftovers into containers and heads out the door. 

He’s gotten bolder, as the weeks of knowing Sakusa have passed. It feels nice, to not be afraid. Well, _as_ afraid, at least.

Atsumu knocks on the door softly, just in case Hayami is already asleep. It proves to be the right move when Sakusa opens the door with a dozing baby in his arms. Atsumu knows he’s never going to get used to that sight. 

Sakusa nods toward the dining table, a signal for Atsumu to put the food down. He sets it down slowly, softening the sound of the plastic bag around the containers. 

Sakusa disappears into the bedroom, softly rocking Hayami as he walks. She isn’t sleeping restfully, by any means. She’s squirming and whining, brows pulling together. 

The apartment isn’t big. So, Atsumu doesn’t fault himself for overhearing Sakusa as he whispers to his daughter.

“I’m sorry, Hayami,” he sounds so _tired_. “I’m trying.”

Hayami answers with a small cry, weakened by sleepiness.

“Is it me? Am I the reason you cry every night?”

Atsumu feels his heart shatter.

When Sakusa comes back out, his protective layers are put back up. They’re transparent now. He drops down onto the couch and leans his head back, closing his eyes.

Sakusa gestures at the spot on the couch next to him. Atsumu takes it as his cue to plop down and revel in the silence, as well.

“Ya know, if ya wanna talk, I’ll listen,” Atsumu whispers.

Sakusa chuckles, eyes still closed. “I’d rather die.”

“What? It might help!”

Sakusa brings his hands up and wipes them down his face, unveiling a fresh layer of exhaustion. “You may have noticed that Hayami’s mother isn’t exactly present.”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything, but yeah,” Atsumu brings his knees up and tucks them to his chest, primed to listen.

“We weren’t together when she got pregnant,” Sakusa opens his eyes, but keeps them trained on the ceiling. “It was a one time fling.”

As usual with Sakusa, a million questions bubble under Atsumu’s tongue. He sorts through and picks the one that won’t get him kicked out of the apartment. “How did it feel when she told ya?”

Sakusa takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. He turns tired eyes over to Atsumu and says, “Do you know what a gunshot feels like?”

The admission tears another truth from Sakusa. He was afraid. He probably still is. His eyes are glazed with the vulnerability of it all, but Atsumu knows he won’t cry. Tears feel like one admission too far, tonight.

“That bad, huh?”

“Just…shocking,” Sakusa’s brows lift. “But we said we’d do it together, see it through.”

Atsumu nods, signalling him to go on. Letting him know he’s here.

“We were nervous, of course,” Sakusa shrugs. “We weren’t sure if we could make room in our lives for this.”

Atsumu hadn’t considered that. How fear could be so present around something as wonderful as Hayami.

“But then I saw her,” Sakusa’s gaze falls on the picture on the coffee table, the one of Hayami as a newborn. “Everything changed after that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” A smile, genuine and calm, smooths over Sakusa’s face. Atsumu cherishes it before it crashes back into exhaustion. “But her mother left.”

“I’m sorry you’ve gotta do it alone.”

“We weren’t in love, or anything. It was just a mutual agreement,” Sakusa huffs a humorless laugh. “Still, I have to wonder…what part of me wasn’t enough?”

Atsumu’s throat is stinging too much for anything more than a whisper. “Hey, Omi?”

“Hm?”

“You’re doin’ a good job.”

Sakusa smiles, soft and gentle. “Thank you, Atsumu.”

They sit in the silence for another few moments before Sakusa continues, “Don’t expect this to become a regular occurrence. This whole…opening up thing.”

Atsumu laughs. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Omi.”

______

Atsumu would be lying if he said he didn’t smile when Sakusa calls him in a panic. Yes, panic is bad. It’s very bad, actually. But there’s a certain comfort in knowing that he’s part of Sakusa’s support system.

It feels good to be counted on, especially by someone who was so set on doing things alone. It’s why Atsumu doesn’t hesitate to pick up the phone on a Thursday evening, when he’s supposed to be doing his lab write-up.

“Atsumu, I know we haven’t known each other for very long, and it’s a lot to ask, but—“

“Say the word, and I’m there.” Atsumu promises. He’s already tucking his wallet and keys into his jacket.

“Hayami has an ear infection, and I need your help.”

“I’m on my way.”

Before he leaves, Atsumu wraps up some leftover onigiri and tosses them in a bag. Something tells him Sakusa hasn’t eaten.

Atsumu can feel the panic radiating from Sakusa’s apartment before he even opens the door. It increases tenfold when Atsumu enters the apartment to a frantic Sakusa, eyes wide with worry.

“Not to continue our little trend, but—“ He’s cut off by another cry from Hayami. She’s red in the cheeks, her lower lip sticking out. “She’s sick, I need to pick up her medicine, my class starts in ten minutes, and the laundry is going off.”

Atsumu puts the food on the dining table. “Do ya have any friends you can call to help?”

“Just my cousin, and he’s too far away, I can’t,” Sakusa’s voice is rising with nerves by the second.

“What do ya need me to do?”

“I don’t,” Sakusa breathes. “I don’t _know_.” 

Atsumu looks around the apartment for a moment. It’s messy, clothes and toys scattered around the living room, dishes piled in the kitchen. Atsumu is certain it’s affecting Sakusa just as much as Hayami’s wails. Wait, that’s it.

“Tell me what Hayami needs.”

The cloudy panic in Sakusa’s eyes subsides for a moment. It makes a home in Atsumu when Sakusa hands Hayami over. Her little arms are tense and tight, back shaking. Atsumu feels for her, honestly.

“She needs a bottle at eight, make sure to burp her, _please_ tell me you’ve burped a baby before.”

“Yeah, I have,” Atsumu nods. “Wait, are ya leaving her with me?”

“Atsumu,” Sakusa plants a hand on Atsumu’s shoulder and shakes him a little. “This is a lot to ask. But please. I trust you.”

Atsumu is going to melt into the floor.

“Okay,” Atsumu turns his attention to Hayami. “Okay, I’ve got ya.”

“Thank you,” Sakusa squeezes Atsumu’s shoulder and heads for the door.

“Wait, Omi! Take an onigiri!”

Sakusa’s face slips into a smile as he grabs a rice ball from the bag. His eyes hold the expression even after his mask is slipped on. “Thank you.”

And then it’s just Atsumu. Atsumu and a fussy, hurting baby.

“Alright,” Atsumu shushes over her little cries. “It’s fine. You’re fine.”

Hayami disagrees, apparently. Atsumu digs into his memory, desperately trying to remember how his cousins calmed their babies down.

He tries shushing, rocking, soothing touch. But none of that seems to be working for her.

“Hayami,” Atsumu sighs. “This is a bit dramatic, and that’s coming from me.”

She answers with a sob into Atsumu’s chest.

“I know. You’re hurting. I know.”

Hayami’s hands pull at Atsumu’s shirt, stretching the fabric. Atsumu keeps pacing around the living room, letting her cry. The sound sends bolts of sympathy right into Atsumu’s heart. Finally, after what feels like hours, her wails simmer down into sniffs.

“There we go,” Atsumu mumbles. “Did ya tire yourself out?”

Her head feels heavier on Atsumu’s shoulder now. He’d love to let her sleep, but a quick glance at the clock tells Atsumu it’s almost time for her bottle.

Atsumu is lucky he’s not clumsy, because trying to sort out a bottle while holding a baby requires some serious dexterity. Every move is calculated, as Hayami whines when Atsumu’s arm is slightly out of place or her head is in the wrong spot. 

He follows the instructions on the formula tin to a T. He thanks the gods he’s fed his cousin’s babies before, or the prospect of feeding Hayami would be terrifying.

Once the bottle is prepared and at the right temperature, Atsumu grabs a burp cloth off the counter and settles down onto the couch and adjusts Hayami so she can eat. She sucks the bottle down like her life depends on it. 

“Better now?”

Hayami’s lower lip is still sticking out, but she seems marginally calmer than before. She whines when Atsumu sits her back up to burp her. 

“Yeah, I know, it doesn’t feel good to move around so much. But ya gotta work with me here.” 

Eventually, Hayami settles enough for Atsumu to burp her and get her back into a comfortable position on his chest. She pins her head down and gets to work, chewing on his shirt.

With Hayami calm, Atsumu takes another look around. The messes were definitely making things worse for Sakusa. Atsumu can help with that.

As carefully as possible, Atsumu stands back up and makes a mental to do list. The dishes need to be washed, but that needs to be done after Hayami is sleeping, or at least happy enough to sit by herself. So, he starts with the living room.

Atsumu sets the scattered toys aside in bins and on shelves, Hayami still in his arms. She expresses her clear discontent when Atsumu dips her head too low, putting more pressure on her ears. Eventually, Atsumu resorts to squatting down to pick things up. He sends a silent prayer to his workouts with Bokuto.

With the living room cleaned and the dishes at the bottom of the checklist, Atsumu sits back on the couch with Hayami. 

“Okay, ma’am,” he coos. “Let’s get you to sleep, yeah?”

Hayami tucks her arms under her chest and pushes up to look Atsumu in the eye, very much awake.

“Aren’t you supposed to be tired after ya eat?” Atsumu asks. Hayami drops her head back down and sputters out some nonsense into his neck. “Okay. Guess I’ll have to do this the old fashioned way.”

Atsumu flips through the memories of his childhood, when he and Osamu couldn’t sleep and their mother sang to them. He lands on his favorite, the one that always helped him slip into dreams. He doesn’t remember the name of it, but he could never forget the tune.

He hums the old lullaby, letting the notes carry through his chest and out to Hayami. It’s gentle enough that it won’t hurt her ears, but soothing enough to get her to sleep. Hopefully.

Sure enough, as Atsumu cradles her, Hayami drifts, head nodding and eyes slipping shut. Atsumu is glad. The pained expression eases off her face as she sleeps.

In the silence, Atsumu realizes he’s stuck on the couch for the foreseeable future, so he slides his phone out of his pocket and checks his notifications.

A text from his mother that he’ll answer _later_ , he swears, an email from his professor about a lab opportunity, a spam call, and a series of texts from Hanamaki.

 **Makki:** Dude

 **Makki:** It’s been like two hours

 **Makki:** Did you seduce him yet

 **Makki:** ?????

Atsumu sighs and types a reply.

 **Atsumu:** Kinda hard to do that when he’s not here

His phone immediately lights up with a call from his personal demon.

“Hey, Makki,” Atsumu greets. He shushes Hayami when she shifts against him.

“You’ve got both of us. So, how’s your little date going?”

Atsumu drops his voice to a whisper. “I’m alone in his apartment, holding his sick baby.”

Hanamaki whistles. “Okay, not the most romantic. But he sounds like he trusts you.”

“I don’t know,” Atsumu smooths a little dark curl behind Hayami’s ear. “Maybe. I cleaned his apartment.”

Matsukawa laughs. “You still falling for him after all this?” 

Atsumu holds Hayami a little tighter to his chest. Her back rises and falls with her deep, peaceful breaths. She really is one of the most precious things Atsumu has ever seen. 

Second only to her father. 

“I know you’re jokin’. But I think I’m falling for both of them, actually.”

_______

Once Atsumu is sure Hayami won’t wake up if he moves, Atsumu slides her off his chest and places her on her floor mat. She stirs for a moment before settling back down with a huff.

Alright. Next up, dishes. 

Atsumu makes quick work of it. He’s always been the cleaner twin, used to picking up after Osamu when they cooked. The exhaustion weighs on his hands and eyelids, but Atsumu wants to finish this. He wants a little of the weight to be lifted off Sakusa’s shoulders.

He hums as he works. The sound smooths over the clinking dishes and running water. The last thing Atsumu wants is to wake Hayami up, after all the progress he’s made tonight.

Atsumu is wiping down the water from the counter when he hears the front door unlock. He quickly folds the towel, checks for any last minute messes, and pokes his head around the wall.

Sakusa is standing in the genkan, mask still donned. He looks at Hayami, sleeping peacefully on the floor, then at the living room, then at Atsumu. 

He takes off his mask and shoes, leaving them both by the door. There’s a little frown on his face when he makes his way to the kitchen. “What’s this?”

“I hope ya don’t mind,” Atsumu gestures around the apartment. “But I didn’t think the mess was helpin’ ya. Just wanted to take some of the weight off.”

Sakusa’s brows furrow for a moment. Atsumu wishes he could tell what he was thinking. Did he overstep? Did he mess up somewhere along the line? Did he—

“Kiss me.”

Atsumu chokes on his spit. “Omi, I know you’re tired, but—“

Sakusa steps in front of Atsumu and grabs him by the shoulders. “Kiss me, you idiot.”

He does.

Atsumu drops his hands onto Sakusa’s waist and pulls him close. He’s warm and steady, even more so when their lips finally meet. Atsumu can’t help but sigh when Sakusa slides a hand through his hair.

Sakusa kisses with every truth he’s got. He’s gentle and warm and blunt and scared. Atsumu can feel it in the way Sakusa grips his arm like it’s a tether. 

The kiss breaks with a soft breath. Atsumu takes just one moment to himself, to drown in the pink on Sakusa’s cheeks.

“I like you. A lot,” Sakusa mumbles.

Atsumu really needs to bring a defibrillator with him when he comes to Sakusa’s apartment.

“I like you, too, Omi,” Atsumu chuckles. “Dunno if ya could tell.”

“It wasn’t exactly subtle, no,” Sakusa snorts. Atsumu loves it. “But you can probably see why I have concerns over bringing someone else into Hayami’s life.”

There it is. Atsumu knew it was coming, but it’s hard to stop the swell of hurt that makes a home under his ribs. Sakusa’s first priority is his daughter, and always will be. Atsumu respects that. 

“Do ya want me to ask ya what ya need?” Atsumu smirks.

“No,” Sakusa brushes a thumb over Atsumu’s cheek, leaving a trail of heat behind it. “This is something I want.”

Atsumu wraps a hand around Sakusa’s wrist, a gentle lifeline. “Then I’m here. Whenever you’re ready, I’m here.”

“Just…just give me some time, okay?” Sakusa’s brows pull down. He has a trace of remorse in his eyes that Atsumu wants to take away.

“Okay,” he says, turning his face toward Sakusa’s palm and brushing a kiss over it. “Goodnight, Omi.”

“Goodnight,” Sakusa tucks a piece of hair behind Atsumu’s ear. “Atsumu.”

Atsumu probably shouldn’t be as giddy as he is. Sakusa needs time, and Atsumu doesn’t know how long it will take. But the walk home has never been warmer, even on this frosty March night. 

He steps into his apartment quietly, just in case Bokuto is sleeping. Of course, he isn’t. He’s sitting on the couch, arms crossed, with Hanamaki and Matsukawa at his side. All of them carry matching Cheshire grins.

“So,” Hanamaki drawls. “You’re the babysitter now?”

“I don’t care how stupid ya think it is,” Atsumu can barely speak through the smile on his face. “But I think I’m in love.”

“Oh, it’s definitely stupid,” Matsukawa laughs. “But we expected nothing less.”

“I’m glad you’re happy, Tsum-Tsum!” Bokuto chirps. 

Huh. Atsumu is happy. He really, really is.

When he collapses into bed, a lingering headache weighing him down, Atsumu opens his messages with Osamu. He just ends up sending about a dozen exclamation points.

 **Samu:** It’s almost midnight, what the hell do you want???

 **Atsumu:** !!!!!!!!!!

 **Samu:** Ah

 **Samu:** Glad it worked out, Tsumu

It did, didn’t it?

___________

Atsumu is used to getting texts from Sakusa. He’s gotten pretty good at not choking when he sees the notification. Of course, nothing prepares him for Sakusa calling.

After nearly dropping his phone onto his bed, Atsumu picks up and answers, “Hey, Omi.”

“Do you want to come over this evening?”

“Oho,” Atsumu teases. “On a Saturday? Is there a special occasion?”

“Actually, yes. Hayami is trying solid food.”

Atsumu snorts. “Ah, so it’s all a plot to get me to clean, huh?”

“No, but…it’s nice to have an extra set of hands,” Sakusa sighs, as if the admittance is a great burden. “And…I enjoy your company."

Ah. Well. Atsumu lets out a breath and thanks the gods Sakusa can’t see his blush. He fiddles with the strings of his hoodie.

“What time?”

Sakusa hums. “Is 5:30 okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Atsumu’s voice feels like the air let out of a balloon. He clears his throat and continues. “Sounds good, Omi.”

With another confirmation from Sakusa, Atsumu hangs up and checks the time. He’s got two hours before he has to head to Sakusa’s apartment. He takes full advantage of it, enjoying a long shower and taking a little extra care with his hair. Sure, they’re about to get horrifically messy, if Atsumu’s limited experience with feeding babies tells him anything. Still, he’d like to at least _arrive_ looking decent.

He decides on a soft sweatshirt he doesn’t mind messing up, and rushes out the door.

Sakusa is already setting up when Atsumu arrives. Hayami sits happily on her stomach, elbows propped on the floor underneath her. 

“Hello, beautiful,” Atsumu dips down and scoops her up with a little laugh. He turns to Sakusa, searching for any boundaries he might have crossed. He only finds a content smile. “You’re getting big!”

Hayami settles right into Atsumu’s chest with a little babble. Atsumu ignores the arrow that pierces his heart in favor of carrying her over to the dining table, where a high chair and an assortment of supplies awaits.

“I think…” Sakusa eyes his arsenal. It really is impressive; spoons, cloths, a few different food choices. Off to the side, a folded pile of used alcohol wipes sits, likely from wiping down the little jars. “I think I have everything.”

“You better,” Atsumu hands Hayami to Sakusa. “Didn’t think babies needed so much.”

Sakusa mumbles a _hello, darling_ as he takes his daughter. “I may have taken a few extra precautions, but you can’t be too careful.”

Babies are funny things. They can barely move on their own. Hayami is nearly six months old now, and she’s only just starting to push up onto her hands and knees. So it is truly impressive when, upon being placed above the high chair, Hayami develops the strength of a heavyweight wrestler.

Putting a baby in a high chair when they do not want to get in said high chair is probably the best workout Atsumu has gotten in years. He can see why Sakusa wanted the extra set of hands. After they finally get Hayami into the chair, Atsumu is ready to sit down. 

“She is so tiny,” Atsumu laughs. “But so strong.”

“Don’t I know it,” Sakusa sighs and brushes a curl out of Hayami’s face. 

They try for mashed bananas first. A very small fraction ends up in Hayami’s mouth. Most of it sticks to her hands, hair, and every piece of fabric in a three foot radius. Sakusa is clearly out of his element, avoiding too much contact with the mess of food and drool. Atsumu chuckles at the permanent upward pull of Sakusa’s lips.

Despite the dining room looking like ground zero for a banana bomb, it’s kind of fun. Atsumu has never minded a little mess, and Hayami’s wide eyes at the new taste is worth every smear on his sweatshirt.

Once Hayami seems tired of the experience, Atsumu stands. “I’ll go wash her up.”

“You don’t have to do that, Atsumu, really,” Sakusa pulls a cloth off the table and starts wiping his hands.

Atsumu tugs his dirty sweatshirt off and takes another cloth. “Omi, I can see you’re not lovin’ the mess. I’ve got it this time.”

Hayami seems happy to leave her plastic prison, grabbing for Atsumu’s arms. He lifts her out of the chair and carries her toward the kitchen, returning her smiles. He decides on the kitchen sink as the best place to clean her up.

“Here, let me,” Sakusa comes up beside him. He tucks his thumbs under the sleeves of Hayami’s shirt, pulling it down over her shoulders, avoiding the mess of her hair and face. 

“Well that’s handy,” Atsumu notes.

Sakusa smirks. “I took a class when she was about two months old. I was the only single father in there. It was worth it, though.”

Another truth unlocks. This one hurts a little more. Sakusa has been alone for awhile, and Atsumu wants to fix that.

They start with pulling bits of banana out of Hayami’s curls. She reaches for their hands as they work, looking for something else to pull into her mouth. Atsumu swipes a thumb over the little mole under her eye with a smile. 

He’s so caught up in wiping the mess up that he doesn’t notice Sakusa, searching Atsumu’s face, until Hayami is cleaned up and sitting on his hip. 

“Atsumu,” Sakusa calls. It’s tentative, contemplative. Atsumu tears his attention away from Hayami to meet his stare.

“Yeah?”

Sakusa steps forward carefully, like he’s walking on ice. He reaches a hand out and slides it onto Atsumu’s shoulder.

“Omi?”

Atsumu’s back is suddenly wrapped in warmth as Sakusa steps behind him and wraps his arms around his waist. He drops his forehead onto Atsumu’s shoulder and holds him a little tighter. 

“I’m ready,” his voice rumbles into Atsumu’s skin.

Atsumu is glad he’s not facing Sakusa right now, because it takes him a second to fight down the prickling heat in his eyes. “Ya sure?”

Sakusa plants a kiss, warm and firm, on the back of Atsumu’s neck. “I’m sure.”

“Then I’ve got you,” Atsumu turns in Sakusa’s hold, pulling Hayami up higher to fit into the little huddle. “I’m here.”

Hayami takes the silence that follows as an opportunity to squeal and tilt over into Sakusa’s chest, grabbing fistfuls of both of their shirts. Sakusa kisses her forehead, then looks back at Atsumu.

“Are _you_ sure?” Sakusa whispers, like the very air around them is breakable.

Atsumu cups Sakusa’s cheek in his hand. “I’ve been sure for awhile, Omi.”

When Sakusa kisses him, Atsumu feels his own words, writing a new truth right alongside Sakusa’s. He wants this. All of it, even the rough nights and sticky messes. He wants Sakusa, and every truth that comes with him.

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter: @tumbleweedfarm_


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